


Unwanted Stars

by Dragon_Tales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Marauders' Era, Multi, Original Character(s), first wizarding war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-10-30 08:13:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10872747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Tales/pseuds/Dragon_Tales
Summary: Voldemort has declared war on muggle kind and the blood traitors who seek to destroy the wizarding world by associating with the weaker race. While both the Ministry of Magic and Albus Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix seek to stop Voldemort and his loyal Death Eaters, the next generation of Witches and Wizards grow up within the safety of Hogwarts walls and must decide for themselves which side they believe in. Family ties, House loyalties and friendships are tested as the war rages and everyone must decide just what they are willing to fight and potentially die for.





	1. The Ministers Briefing

The Minister for Magic sat in her office at the heart of the Ministry, staring at her three guests in quiet disbelief. Opposite her Albus Dumbledore had a calm exterior but deep within his shining blue eyes there was a guarded apprehension. Behind Dumbledore stood Benjy Fenwick, a young auror in training who stared anxiously at his feet while his mentor Alastor Moody paced the floor. Moody finished his report but continued to pace, his nervous energy bubbling under the surface and causing his eyes to flash around the room at the slightest noise. 

“So as you can see Eugenia, we are in a state of emergency.” Albus said, his soft voice filling the space of the large office. His presence in the room was commanding and although he spoke to the Minister with clear respect, his tone was sharp and resolved. 

“You really consider this wizard to be a threat?” Eugenia asked. Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke and she leant forwards, her eyes pleading. 

“I do. He has too many followers to be ignored and his actions speak far louder than his words need to. He is claiming the deaths of four muggle families over the last three months and he says more will follow.” 

The Minister nodded silently, her trust in Dumbledore fighting with her desire for him to be wrong. 

“Does he have any demands? What does he want to achieve by addressing us like this?” 

“He wants to influence people to join his cause. An all-out blood war to establish dominance over muggles and to cast out muggleborn wizards and witches.” 

“And he wants the support of the Ministry?” 

“He wants the support of all wizardkind yes.”

“This is a power play then? To garner support and troops for the war he’s waging.” 

“Yes, we need to respond Eugenia.” 

The Minister rubbed her exhausted eyes. She had been inundated with countless cases of muggle hate crimes since she had entered office and she knew that this man, whoever he was, was just the tip of the iceberg. Others would flock to his cause and they would have a full-scale rebellion on their hands. Anyone dissatisfied with Ministry could join this wizards cause and it would be Grindelwald all over again. 

“What action would you suggest we take Albus? Do we know where this madman is?” 

“No, it would be almost impossible to try to find him. Instead we must put man power in to discovering his accomplices who are responsible for the recent murders and bring them to justice. They will lead us to him.” 

“How many do you think he has?” 

“At least a dozen, probably more.” Moody grunted. Fenwick nodded silently, his eyes flicking to the Minister to gage her response. 

“Do we know anything about any of them?” Eugenia asked desperately, straightening up in her seat. 

“We know they have begun to adopt a symbol. It’s a green snake curling around a skull and they leave it wherever they strike.” Fenwick said, shuddering slightly at the memory of the scenes he had found only a few hours earlier in a darkened muggle house. The symbol had hung above in the sky, shining ominously in the bleak darkness of the night. Fenwick’s jaw clenched as the images of the twisted and tortured forms of the family of four forced itself to the forefront of his mind. 

“He calls himself Lord Voldemort.” Dumbledore explained, his voice betraying his disgust. “His followers are the Death Eaters.” 

“Merlin’s beard so he’s completely potty?” Eugenia rested her face in her hands for a few moments. 

“That only makes him more dangerous. He’s unpredictable, we got no way of knowing where he’ll strike next.” Moody muttered darkly, causing the Minister to look up at him. Horror swept across her expression as this realisation sunk in and she hurriedly took a bottle of whisky out of her desk drawer and poured herself a large glass. She drank the glass in one and then stared into the bottle, the wheels of her mind slowly turning as she assessed the situation. 

“Moody I want you to fully brief the rest of the auror office, from now on your primary objective is to hunt down the individuals responsible for these crimes, these so-called Death Eaters, and I want them publicly tried. We need to send a clear message to the wizarding public that these crimes will not go unanswered by the Ministry.” 

She poured herself another drink, this time inclining the bottle towards her guests in invitation. All three accepted and she poured them all drinks. 

“I’ll draft up a statement to read in the morning condemning the attacks and this Voldetort and urging anyone with information to come forward. Hopefully if we stamp this out before he gets a chance to find his target audience we’ll be able to stop anyone else from getting hurt.” 

Dumbledore remained silent, his whisky untouched before him. 

“I know you warned me before Albus, and we did everything we could. But you have to admit there was no way we could have proved that these attacks came from one source until those behind them admitted it.” Eugenia was nervous at Dumbledore’s silence and she downed her second glass while he considered his response. 

“I fear that by waiting you have risked leaving it too late, now Voldemort has a reputation and potentially an audience. It doesn’t matter how quickly you respond, he’s already made a public announcement. People will be drawn to him, it’s one of his many talents.” 

“You speak as if you know him personally?” Eugenia’s tone was sharp, almost accusing. Almost. 

“I taught him when he was a pupil at Hogwarts.” Dumbledore explained before taking his first swig of the whisky. A slight tremble in his hand had occurred at the memory of the man Dumbledore had had in his office not so long ago. To think that the same man that was responsible for the horrific murders of those muggles was the same boy he had met at the orphanage all those years ago was almost beyond belief and his stomach twisted uncomfortably. Once again the painful thoughts returned unbidden to the forefront of his mind. 

Why didn’t you see it sooner? 

You should have seen what he would become. 

You should have recognised the signs. 

If you’d have done something, been more of a mentor to him perhaps, you could have stopped him. 

And those people would be alive. 

He placed the glass on the desk, next to the glass Fenwick had quickly emptied, and swallowed his guilt. He forced himself to look forward and contain the echoes of the past that threatened to overwhelm him. Not now. It wouldn’t help to drown in the past and forget the present. Only action could help anyone else from being hurt, not lamenting lost opportunities. 

“Then you know who he is? Do you know how to contact him? Perhaps you can-”

“If you are under the impression that any relationship I had with the boy will impact the man I am afraid you are mistaken. Our time together may have encouraged a sort of respect for me to grow inside him but it has clearly not been enough to impact his behaviour thus far and I must assume that after the murders of at least a dozen innocents that a simple word from me will not dissuade him.” 

“He’s too far gone for reason…” Fenwick said quietly, his eyes flashing with fury. 

The Minister nodded, clearly disappointed and disheartened. 

“Then we’ll have to begin the search for them in the usual way. Are there any other precautions that you would advise me to take, as Supreme Mugwump?” 

“Official measures to secure the safekeeping of the muggle community, including briefing the Muggle Prime Minister.”

“Oh Heath’ll love this.” Eugenia groaned, pouring herself another whisky. 

“It is necessary to work together to protect the vulnerable.” 

Eugenia nodded in agreement. She looked as though the conversation had aged her by thirty years and for a few moments Dumbledore wondered whether she was up to the task at hand. He couldn’t be sure why, but something inside him said that she would not be the only Minister for Magic during this fight. The public's support would turn quickly and the uglier the war got the more they would insist on someone who would take a harder line. Dumbledore didn’t want to imagine who they would elect if things got that bad. 

“I’ll speak to him once I’ve made my statement in the morning. He’ll be wanting more security too. Moody, tell Bone to add someone when you brief him. Maybe Scrimgeour, he’s an up and comer isn’t he?”

“Aye, he’ll do the job.” Moody nodded, pausing in his pacing long enough to listen to the Minister while she was directly addressing him. 

“We need to get on top of this before the public start to panic too much! Especially if the press start to stir the pot as well.” Eugenia groaned again, imagining the strain the coming weeks would provide. 

“You will keep me abreast of developments?” Albus asked, standing. 

Fenwick and Moody both jumped out of Dumbledore’s way and stood to the side for him. Eugenia stood up slowly, a small smile spreading across her face for the first time since Dumbledore and the others had entered her office more than three hours before. 

“I don’t think you will have much trouble with that Albus, considering how Moody here came to you before both Head Auror Bone and myself.” 

Moody flushed red and began to mutter to himself under his breath, stopping only when Fenwick elbowed him. 

Dumbledore inclined his head, hoping that Eugenia’s smile meant that he would not need to rely on Moody for information. The Irish woman was fierce, that much was true, but Dumbledore knew instinctively she would not be enough to stem the tide of anti-Muggle feeling Voldemort’s attacks would bring. She was more concerned with public opinion and the politics of the situation to be able to tackle it properly. It was a shame, Dumbledore thought, the precise traits that made me a good politician and Minister would undoubtedly bring about her downfall. She was a skilled and intelligent witch, he had no doubts about that, but she would not flourish in this time of war. Only the truly hardy would do that, and Dumbledore knew Eugenia did not fit in that category. She was too good to be able to do what was needed to be done. Her hope that these attacks were just random acts, the work of individuals, and her desire to believe that Voldemort could be reasoned with was evidence enough of that. 

Dumbledore left her office with Fenwick and Moody in tow, deep in thought.

“This will be the hardest point.” Fenwick said, his voice tight with anger. 

“What?” Moody asked his pupil. Dumbledore looked at Fenwick with interest, wondering if the young auror was beginning to crack under the pressure already. 

“We won’t be able to find these bastards until they get so cocky they step into the light. They won’t do that straight away. The darkness and anonymity they have now is too alluring, they’ll only come forward when they get confident they’re going to win. We’ll have to sit back and watch them kill over and over again, waiting until they do it so much they think they’re unstoppable.” 

“Well we’re sure as hell not going to make it easy for them. We’re going to fight them lad, don’t you start thinking we won’t.” Moody’s eyes flicked to Dumbledore for support but he remained silent, thinking about Fenwick’s words and instantly seeing the truth in them. 

“I’m afraid you’re right, this will be a war not a battle.” Dumbledore said at last, nodding sadly to the two aurors as their paths diverted. Moody and Fenwick hurried towards the auror office to begin sending out messages to call their staff in for an emergency meeting. Dumbledore slowed for a second, considering staying to have a discussion with Bone about the situation. But he thought better of it and he continued on his way down to the main hall where he disapparated.


	2. The Birth of the Dark Lord

Tom Riddle sat back on his throne and surveyed the eager expressions of his followers with a relaxed air. He had called a meeting of his closest Death Eaters to discuss the next stage of their plan. Events had been developing at a far more rapid pace than he had at first anticipated and although Riddle was pleased he was also beginning to experience the tendrils of misgiving twitching at his euphoria. 

The numbers of his followers had swollen since his public announcement only a few short months before and although he was pleased with the progress they had made he was beginning to see the first clear signs of rebellion against him. The Ministry of Magic had weakly challenged the actions of his followers, calling them enemies of freedom and calling on witnesses to come forward. So far no one had betrayed him and, indeed, he had seen some of the more traditional wizards with old bloodlines praise him for celebrating their great heritage. 

All in all, Riddle was very pleased with the turn of events. 

But still, the public condemnation of the actions of his supporters by Albus Dumbledore, who was enjoying more public support as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot than ever before, had left him all too aware that this was the point in time when the more cowardly of his followers would begin to distance themselves from the cause. He could not allow that and so he had decided to take action to test the loyalty of his Death Eaters. Beginning with his inner circle. 

He tapped his manicured nails on the arm of the throne, revelling in the awed silence in the room. It was obvious he had the full attention of those seated below him and he felt a powerful sense of pride surge within him. This was how it should have been, with him commanding the attention of others with ease. It was moments like these that strengthened his sense of a connection with his noble birth right; he was without doubt that he had been born to rule over these mortals. 

Riddle toyed with his ring while he looked down imperiously at the small group gathered before him. To his immediate left was Lestrange, his closest and most devoted follower, who had brought his eldest son, Rabastan, to the meeting. Beside them was Avery, Nott, Rosier then Mulciber and Macnair. He surveyed them with the air of a King before the drumming of his fingers stopped and he moved his shoulders back, pushing his chest forward as a signal to the others that he was ready to begin. 

“It has come to my attention that Albus Dumbledore has spoken out against our efforts and has encouraged our brothers to work to thwart our noble fight.” He calmly observed the effect his words had on his inner circle, pleased to see the looks of disgust and contempt that appeared on their faces. 

“His words are no match for your power My Lord, we are not concerned with his opposition- it was expected.” Lestrange’s words were measured, a calculated attempt to assuage Riddle and prove his own loyalty to and confidence in their mission. 

Riddle allowed the room to lapse into silence, considering his lieutenant’s words. 

“Dumbledore will be a powerful adversary, and our success will not be assured should we underestimate his influence and strength. I believe now would be the perfect time to increase our reach and begin to expand our recruitment.” 

The men nodded amongst themselves silently. 

“There are a great many interested wizards who are keen to join our ranks My Lord.” Lestrange announced proudly, clapping his own son on the back to prove his point. Riddle looked into the young man’s hungry eyes and felt a strange satisfaction at the wildness he saw there. 

“It is not whether we can gather support that preoccupies me Lestrange, it is how to ensure that those who join our struggle remain loyal to us.” 

Riddle watched his guest’s reactions with relish, enjoying the shock and pride that burned in their eyes. 

“My Lord I hope you do not doubt the loyalty of any man here!” Mulciber’s tone was thick with protest and Riddle almost laughed at his weakness. He controlled himself though, and leant forwards in his seat.

“I trust that no one here will ever give me reason to doubt their loyalty.” 

The group nodded furiously, their insistent assent lead by fear more than anything. Riddle found it boring and pathetic, but necessary. 

“I also trust you to lead by example and show new wizards and witches what loyalty to their Lord looks like. I need you to be a visual reminder of my presence and strength at all times.” 

The men bowed their heads in agreement but Riddle began to notice a few beads of moisture on their faces. They were beginning to feel uneasy about what he would ask of them and Riddle had to fight against the fury that rose within him. They were such spineless creatures, less than newts in comparison to his grandeur, he would have to teach them how to be useful. 

“Lestrange, give me your hand.” He held out his left hand and waited. Lestrange’s expression was one of shock and then resolution as he approached Riddle, bent down on one knee and offered his Master his right hand. 

Riddle pulled Lestrange’s sleeve up to his elbow, his fingers trailing down the fragile milky skin of his lieutenant’s forearm. Lestrange shuddered but Riddle ignored it, either ignorant of the other man’s discomfort or uninterested by it. 

Riddle took his wand out of his pocket and traced it down the soft skin of Lestrange’s inner arm. At first nothing happened, and then black, smoky tendrils began to run from the tip of Riddle’s wand into his follower’s skin. Lestrange grimaced as it burned into him but clenched his jaw, refusing to cry out in front of the other men or his Master. It didn’t take long for the tattoo began to take shape and within a few moments Lestrange had the now familiar snake curling around a skull image that had become the emblem of their movement permanently etched into his skin. 

“Now you are a Death Eater, you belong to me. You will come when I command and you will do as I desire.” Riddle felt a surge of satisfaction rise within him at the sight of the man kneeling before him, his mark carved into his skin for as long as he had skin. 

“My Lord, you honour me. I pledge my unyielding and undying loyalty to you, for as long as I live.” Lestrange looked down at his arm in awe, his fingers trembling at the burning sensation that seemed to have seeped through his veins and was travelling over his body with every beat of his heart. 

Riddle waved the man away and beckoned for his son to step forward. Rabastan rushed forward and knelt down before his Master eagerly, almost ripping his cloak in his eagerness to expose his forearm as his father had done before him. Riddle ran his fingers up and down the softness of the boy’s skin, just as he had done with his fathers. He could see the excitement in Rabastan’s eyes and noted the heavy and irregular gasping breaths of the quivering youth. 

The boy didn’t flinch and barely showed a response as Riddle burned the mark into his arm. If anything, his excitement intensified and he beamed with pride. Rabastan returned to his father’s side and stood tall, smugly sneering at the other Death Eaters present. Riddle watched the looks of envy swelling in his other follower’s eyes and found himself pleased at the sight. To have so clearly elevated the Lestrange’s in front of the others, to have made them the very first to wear his mark, would inspire a competitive jealousy within the group that would make it easier for betrayers and traitors to be discovered and punished. He hoped that it would also mean that he would begin to see his Death Eaters take some initiative as they vied for his affection and approval. 

Next, Riddle called Avery forward, then Nott, Mulciber, Rosier and finally Macnair. Each man approached him with reverence and vowed to serve him loyally for the rest of his life. The oaths became more devout and fanciful until even the Lestrange’s began to fear their moment had been overshadowed. When the last mark had been burned into Macnair’s forearm Riddle relaxed back into his throne and surveyed his followers, all of whom who were on their knees before him. He found the sight incredibly exhilarating.

“You will be my inner circle of my most trusted Death Eaters. It will be your duty, and honour, to bring to me those in our ranks who need praise, and those who need discipline. It will also be your privilege to recruit wizards and witches of old families and good bloodlines to our cause, to swell our ranks and aid us in accomplishing our goals. Those who are most useful will be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams, those who fail me will not be given any second chances.” 

He stopped, assessing the atmosphere in the dimly lit room. He could see that he had already inspired the glint of enterprise in their eyes and he allowed himself to grow confident with their capabilities. He knew very well that he could not rely on such weak beings but, perhaps if they fell in line with enough finesse they would be enough to achieve the great task he had set himself. 

“We will serve you faithfully My Lord; we already have a number of members who are eager to prove themselves to you.” Nott said gravely, keeping his eyes down on the floor beneath him as though he were unsure he was worthy to look into his Master’s eyes. 

Riddle liked that. 

“Test them. If they succeed, bring them to me. If they fail, dispose of them. We cannot have the Ministry knowing any of the members of our movement just yet… I do not wish for a war with our own people. The loss of pure, wizarding blood would be a great shame to me. I only want the best for our people, the best chance for them to survive and thrive in the world that should be there’s to rule. We have lived in the shadows for too long. It is now the time to show our strength. Anyone who jeopardises that opportunity must be considered the enemy, wizard blood or not.” 

The Death Eaters nodded, their demeanour filled with a devout piety that one would expect of the most earnest pilgrim in front of the shrine they had travelled hundreds of miles to see. 

“We will not fail you My Lord.” They murmured in unison. 

Riddle smiled, he could feel his confidence growing as he looked down at the loyal dogs before him. How could the great Albus Dumbledore and his contingent of pathetic Ministry oafs possibly stop the great Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters? 

As if in answer to this thought, Riddle watched as Rabastan Lestrange boldly looked up at his Master and pulled the pointed black hood of his cloak up over his head. Riddle leant forward, thrilled at the image of this dark eyed youth clothed in darkness before him. 

Beside the boy, his father and the others, having observed both his actions and their Lord’s reaction copied him and pulled their own hoods up. Lord Voldemort stood up triumphantly, his legacy would be a grand, eternal reign of dark supremacy and he had no doubt it had begun that night in the shadowy dining room of the Lestrange Manor.


End file.
